


Dividers

by lmeden



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: Gen, M/M, sort of but not really, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 11:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmeden/pseuds/lmeden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“…crossing the most treacherous of all mountain ranges, fighting off the nightmare beasts that made those cold peaks their home, braving the wild fae and all that it chose to manifest, their own souls’ nightmares given substance…” </p>
<p>- <i>Black Sun Rises</i>, pg. 21-22</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dividers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tedronai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedronai/gifts).



> I added the rape/non-con warning just in case. Be rest assured that there is no actually rape on non-con. There is, however, something that treads dangerously close to non-con, and so I wanted to be safe and added the warning. This story is also not really a Damien/Gerald story. It almost is, but mostly isn't. I added the tag to cover the bases. So this really is a 'sort of but not really' kind of story. (Also, I wanted it to be longer.)
> 
> tl;dr I hope you like it!

Damien wrenched his dagger from the breast of the beast with a sucking pull, feeling a cruel satisfaction within. The creature began to deteriorate immediately, and he turned away before it turned fully to dust. 

He yanked on the bridle of his unhorse to urge it on. It balked against his grip, still unnerved by the encounter, but Damien was not in the mood, and it soon followed. 

Heartbeat slowing, he exhaled sharply, and his breath puffed around him like a cloud. The loose rocks under his feet began to shift and he pushed to the side, reaching out with an ungloved hand and grasping a stone as cold as ice for balance. 

The loose rocks tumbled around his unhorse’s legs and down the slope, clattering all the way. The sound didn’t echo, the steep mountains the ones they climbed were padded with snow and sucked the sound up. Damien froze all the same. 

Were other beasts pursuing him? The creatures that lived in the Dividers hadn’t failed to track him down so far. The one he had just killed had been the twelfth, by his count. 

He turned, glancing behind him and out over the side of the mountain, over the crevasse between this mount and the next, the sharp cliff faces that rose from far below and nudged each other in an attempt to crowd as close as possible. The air was still, and Erna was painted in gray and white as soft flakes of snow drifted down around him and his unhorse. It was beautiful.

_How deceiving,_ a voice in his mind sneered. The Dividers kept their perils close and their deathtraps secret. Damien knew the range as well as was possible, having traversed it once before, but found this journey was no less dangerous. 

The silence around him held, unbroken except by the sighing of his unhorse as it shifted on its toes. Damien turned and cast a look its way, then back towards the slope. There were many days yet in his journey, and many mountains still to cross. 

He leaned forward, shifting his scarf higher to keep out the biting wind. It didn’t bother him overly, though. He had felt colder things. 

-

It wasn’t until Damien found his way to the leeward side of the mountain that he dared stop to rest. The wind would not pick up his scent here, and hopefully the fae-born beasts would not find him. He daren’t light a fire, though.

He crouched low, wedged between two rocks, his pack shoved on one side of him to keep the cold from seeping into his bones and the unhorse squeezed in on the other side –to both keep it still and provide Damien with heat. 

With fingers that only barely registered sensation, he ran his fingers along the lines of the map. 

It was an old thing, purchased in Ganji-on-the-Cliffs before he had crossed the Dividers for the first time, and Damien could only hope that it was still valid. The flow of the fae was shown very clearly on the map, yet Damien could feel none of it beneath his feet. He hadn’t expected to, not really, but at times he still missed the sensation, the hum. 

His fingers traced his path down the side of the mountain, up the next, around the thickest concentration of the fae and skirting along the edge of the flows. The fae here were old, and only with his gun and knife to fight them, Damien wanted to avoid the worst as much as possible. 

Tongue caught between his teeth, he folded the map again and carefully slipped it into his pack. He was headed the right direction. With any luck, it would take no longer than another week to get out of the Dividers completely. 

And then home. 

Damien sighed and leaned back against the unhorse. It snorted and its skin shivered beneath him. It seemed almost like the creature was as nervous to return as he was, (though of course it couldn’t be, for it had never been to Damien’s birthplace).

-

The snow had melted and turned to streams that trickled down around Damien’s feet before he felt secure again. Here, the cries of the beasts didn’t echo, and even the unhorse seemed at ease. 

Movement on the rocks below made Damien pause, and he leaned carefully out to see what was moving. Ah, a goat. It scrambled easily over the mountainside, seemingly unaware of he and the unhorse’s presence as it headed for a small stream that snaked down between the rocks. 

The sight of it made Damien’s mouth water – he hadn’t had fresh meat in weeks, and his teeth were beginning to ache from gnawing the dried meat in his pack. He reached for the gun at his waist, feeling by its weight that he had reloaded it. Could he risk it? There was the sound of the shot to consider, as well as the smoke from the fire he would have to build to roast the goat’s flesh. 

Damien couldn’t help but envision how the meat would taste, even unseasoned and half-raw. Yes, he thought, he could risk it. 

He ground-tethered the unhorse and crept forward, hiding behind the large boulders that jutted from the slop and using them for balance. He raised the gun and took a breath.

-

The meat was good, once cooked. It was full of flavor and filling in a way that Damien knew came only from deep-seated hunger. 

The unhorse pulled nervously from Damien’s fire and he glanced around, scanning the area between bites. Nothing yet; the fae-beasts were keeping their distance. 

He managed only three more bites, though, before he heard their wild, chilling cries. Cursing, he reached for the meat over the fire – still steaming and harsh against his chilled flesh – and sliced off a few more bites. He wrapped them quickly and shoved the meat into his pack for another time. He turned to kick rocks and snow onto the fire and grabbed the unhorse’s reins. 

The terrain was just even enough, so he pulled himself into the saddle and yanked the unhorse’s head up. It snorted, ears twitching in many directions as the ululating cries echoed through the pass. 

Damien dug his heels into the unhorse’s sides and spurred it forward. It lurched down the slope, toes grasping for purchase. Damien’s gaze caught on the remains of his fire once more, still flaring in the wind. 

_Leave it_ , he thought. _It may distract the beasts for a moment longer. And a moment is all you will need._

-

The cave was darker than Damien had thought it would be – the shadows a deep gray that swallowed his pack as it landed upon the floor – but Damien wasn’t willing to risk a fire again. He could still hear the fae-beasts’ calls, following the trails hungrily behind him.

He could run now further, though, and neither could the unhorse. He hoped that this place would be enough to shelter them. 

Damien backed into the cave and patted his unhorse’s quivering flank. 

At first he had thought that the unhorse was a particularly stupid specimen of its species, but it had carried Damien this far, so he supposed that he was grateful to it, in a strange way. And besides, having to constantly watch it and keep it calm was soothing to his nerves. There wasn’t much that he could take care of, anymore. 

He settled back against the rocky wall, shifting until he found a position that was relatively comfortable. He would wait here until the calls faded and the beasts tired, then venture out in the morning. By his calculations, he could be no more than two days from the edge of the Dividers. With caution, the beasts of the mountains would keep away. 

Damien reached for his pack, then drew his hand away. Better to save the meat for later, when he was truly hungry. 

He turned his face away, resting his cheek on the stone. He stared into the burgeoning darkness, the dimming of the night before the moons would rise. Slowly, his eyelids drifted closed and he fell into a light sleep.

-

He woke to fire. 

It flared in the corner of his gaze and Damien flinched away from it, shoving himself up and against the rock wall. What had happened? Where had the fire come from? He was _sure_ that he’d decided not to take the risk. 

Damien’s hand went for the knife at his belt. 

“Too slow,” came a voice from beyond the fire. “You are growing rusty.” The sound of it made Damien’s breath catch and his heart pound hard in his throat. 

He looked up, fist clenching around the hilt of his knife, and saw only the glimmer of Gerald’s eyes beyond the bright burn of the fire. They could no be real. _He_ could not be real. 

“What are you?” Damien’s voice was surprisingly steady.

Across the fire, the creature that sounded just like Gerald Tarrant shifted forward, revealing that it looked exactly like the man as well. Damien swallowed. The creature’s brow rose.

“You haven’t figured that out yet?” it asked. “After all this time, I thought you would have come to some kind of decision.”

Damien pushed the unease in his stomach down as far as it would go. “You are not Gerald Tarrant. You can’t be, because—“

Damien quickly cut himself off. This creature couldn’t be Gerald, because Damien had met Gerald after his death, and though he’d been markedly different, he was very much the same as the man Damien had known. The terms of Gerald’s deal forbade Damien speaking of it – he knew that if he spoke of Gerald being alive, or even really _thought_ it, the contract would be void, and Gerald destroyed. He couldn’t do that. 

Which meant he couldn’t deny this creature’s existence aloud, either. 

“Why can’t I be?” the creature asked, its voice just as dark and dangerous as Gerald’s had wont to be, and Damien had a hard time convincing himself that it really wasn’t the man. 

He moved. He was not caged within this cave; though fae-beasts hunted him, he was willing to take his chances with them rather than spend another moment with an imposter. 

Damien turned his back on the creature and grabbed his pack. He slung it over his shoulder and walked towards the front of the cave.

“How can you be _sure_ that I am not her?” demanded the voice behind him. 

There was no way he could be. No way to know that Gerald hadn’t found a way around that great working. If anyone could circumvent it, it would be Gerald Tarrant. 

“Ah, I see,” the voice said from just behind Damien. “You are not sure; not at all.”

Damien whirled to confront the creature and found it right behind him, as slim and tall as Gerald had been. It seized him, the chill of its grip passing straight through the layers of his clothing, and Damien knew with a faint shock of surprise that it _must_ be him. He didn’t know how Gerald had done it, but it was he. 

Gerald pushed him back, shoved him against the wall of the cave, and Damien knocked his head hard enough to make his vision waver. He hissed and groped for his knife once more. 

Not fast enough, though, for Gerald was upon him. As he grasped Damien, he felt something deep inside of him open once more; he had thought it dead, but the channel surged to life as if it had merely been sleeping, and its reopening terrified him more than he would admit. 

He felt Gerald’s breaths in his chest, the hunger gnawing deep within him. It overwhelmed Damien and sent him staggering. Gerald drew him close, his long fingers sharp as they pressed into Damien’s jaw. He inhaled sharply and Damien felt his own terror spiraling within, both flowing from him and growing monumentally. 

This was not like Gerald’s past feedings. It was less controlled, wilder. Before, Gerald had pulled or teased the fear from him, delicate and skilled. This was much less so. Had Gerald fallen so far after his death? 

Or was this an imposter after all? 

Damien didn’t see how the former could be true, but couldn’t name why he felt so; the terror coursing through him made it hard for him to think or feel anything beyond the press of Gerald’s clothes against his cheek and the chill grasp of Gerald’s hands on his shoulders. 

As the fear grew, Damien’s consciousness began to fade. He felt it slip sideways and his eyes fluttered. He couldn’t let go, couldn’t give in. He grasped Gerald’s shoulders and pulled himself up.

“Give up now,” Gerald said. “You are far too weak to fight the likes of _me_.” With his words, dark and terrible hysteria rose with Damien and his world spun, falling apart. 

It was a long time before darkness came to surround him.

-

Damien found the fire and the scuffmarks in the dirt. He found that his bag was where it had fallen and his unhorse was snuffling around outside, vainly searching for food. A set of footsteps not his own led out of the cave and vanished mid-step, as if the man who had made them had vanished, or changed. 

Exhausted as he was, Damien stooped down and touched the edge of the print. It was heavy and wide; a man’s shoe, but nothing more telling than that. He sighed and stood. 

Something had happened the night before; Damien knew that much, but wasn’t sure of much more. His memories were clear, but he had trouble believing them. 

Could Gerald have truly reclaimed his identity and broken the working that had bound him? Carefully, he reached out with his sense, seeking the fae as he has once been able to do every day. Nothing. He could sense that they were there, but just as remote as they had been.

The creature could not have been Gerald. Damien’s first instinct had been correct. But what had it been? That question, he found that he was not prepared to answer. He felt drained inside, all vitality and energy sapped. He felt emptied.

He turned and whistled to the unhorse. Its ears swiveled and it picked its head up, and Damien shouldered his pack heavily. No matter what had happened, he couldn’t stay here. 

-

The foothills of the Dividers were dry, arid plains. In the distance, the horizon vanished from Damien’s sight and he knew from memory that the cliffs were just beyond that point. Ganji was within reach. 

He shifted on the unhorse and it sighed, its strides much easier since the slope had level out. Damien’s pack was light; he would need to begin hunting again soon. 

He turned and glanced over his shoulder; the Dividers loomed over him already, tall and forbidding, cutting off his gaze from all angles. At a quick glance, nothing moved. The mountains were still and snow-sheathed, frozen against the sky.

There was nothing there. 

Damien wasn’t even sure what he was looking for.


End file.
